


I Want To Know What Love Is

by MacksDramaticShenanigans



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley.exe has stopped working, Dramatic Crowley (Good Omens), Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Flustered Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Patient Aziraphale (Good Omens), Surprise Kissing, Sweet Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 09:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacksDramaticShenanigans/pseuds/MacksDramaticShenanigans
Summary: “My dear, I’m afraid you’re not having a heart attack,” Aziraphale tells him, amusement coloring his tone.Crowley frowns, but his grip at his chest loosens a little bit. “But it’s… it’s…” he waves his hand in front of his heart mimicking the irregular thudding. “That’snormal?” He drags Aziraphale’s hand down and presses it flat against his heart where it hammers away so he can feel for himself.“Not entirely,” Aziraphale answers truthfully, pressing his lips together briefly. He pulls his hand away from Crowley’s chest. “Though, given the other symptoms you seem to be experiencing…” he trails off, and his cheeks go a little pink.“What is it, angel?” Crowley demands.Aziraphale then titters into his hand, like he just remembered a joke Crowley isn’t in on. “Oh, my dear, I do believe you’re in love,” he says. The rosy color of his cheeks grows darker.Crowley blinks. “I’m…what?”





	I Want To Know What Love Is

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy there! Me again! Two fics within days of each other! Can y’all tell that summer is over and I’m back in school? My motivation/inspiration has returned FULL FORCE and I am fully intending on taking advantage of it!! Especially since my work load for class has just started so it’s fairly lowkey still haha.
> 
> Anyways, the idea for this fic came to me completely randomly and I just had to follow through with it because flustered dramatic Crowley is my absolute favorite. I adore his overreactions to things very much haha. And I also highkey relate to that so. 
> 
> Thank you to saerM for giving this a read over and helping me figure some things out and fix a whole bunch of stuff. All your suggestions were incredibly helpful and this fic is definitely so much better because of them!
> 
> The title comes from [I Want To Know What Love Is](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=raNGeq3_DtM) by Foreigner. I was stuck between using a lyric from this song and Accidentally In Love by Counting Crows (yes, the shrek song lol). Both of them like hella work for ineffable husbands, especially this fic. But I took a vote and I Want To Know What Love Is won. Have fun having that song stuck in your head like it is in mine!! haha.
> 
> I really hope you guys like this one!!

They’re at Crowley’s flat, this time. It’s not often they find themselves there rather than Aziraphale’s bookshop, but this time, as they stroll from the edge of the duck pond back to the Bentley, Aziraphale suggests they reside themselves there today.

Crowley doesn’t argue. He likes having Aziraphale in his space, likes how he can make his mark there.

And make his mark he has. The flat is still very much Crowley’s, with its almost unsettlingly minimalism, but there’s a very noticeable presence of Aziraphale throughout.

The sitting room— if it could have ever been called a sitting room with its previous history of housing just a single chair— has more furniture, for one. Whereas before it was just Crowley’s gaudy golden throne and his rich cherry wood desk sat in the center of the room with only a single decorative sculpture off to the side, now, the throne and desk have been pushed against a wall to make space for a luxurious black leather armchair and a matching sofa, long enough for Crowley to properly spread out on. They sit in front of the large television, the sculpture now even more snugly tucked into the corner of the room. 

In addition to the new seating, there’s also a bookcase. A snake bookshelf, as they call it, because of the way the four rectangles of sleek black wood stack on top of each other, open at opposite ends, to give the illusion that it’s winding. Crowley had had to work around his precious Mona Lisa sketch to make it fit, but he’d managed. The things he does for his angel.

Because, of course, that’s exactly who the bookcase was installed for. Though, Crowley did take one shelf of it for himself; he needed a proper place to store his big books of space and whatnot.

The rest of the bookcase, however, is dedicated to all the books and novels and folios and scripts that Aziraphale had accidentally managed to leave at the flat over the years. There’s even a scroll or two tucked away in a pocket of free space.

Needless to say, it had made Aziraphale very happy when he first saw it. 

Currently, Crowley is sprawled across the sofa. Despite the fact that his whole body fits on it, he still dangles his legs over the side while his head rests low against the opposite armrest. He swings his foot absentmindedly, watching Aziraphale as he stands in front of the bookcase, arms tucked behind his back as he mulls over his reading options.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale suddenly exclaims, brightly, excitedly. He tosses a pleasantly surprised glance— a look generally deployed in fancy restaurants when presented with a luxurious ‘on the house’ dessert— over his shoulder. Almost as he quickly as it’s presented, it’s gone, as he turns back to the bookcase, that seemingly magnetic pull of the new book too strong to ignore. He reaches up to pull a hefty book from its place, holding it in front of himself with both hands as he takes in the elegant cover. Then he spins on his heel and clutches the book to his chest. “This is new! I don’t remember having it in my collection…”

Crowley immediately recognizes it as the book he’d found the other day at a  _ rummage sale _ of all places. The lofty pile of old books the seller had stacked on a plastic foldable table was the only reason Crowley even bothered to stop. It was all for Aziraphale’s sake, or so he tells himself. It had absolutely nothing to do with the ostentatious chalice with the delicately carved silver snake curling around it (that now sits proudly in the empty space above his fireplace) that had caught his eye.

The gold lettering of the title etched into the ruby red cover rang vaguely familiar, something Aziraphale had probably mentioned (and by mentioned, he means rambled endlessly about— not that Crowley would complain about Aziraphale’s rambling. He quite enjoyed Aziraphale’s rambling) one day. Figuring that his angel would appreciate it nonetheless, Crowley snagged it and paid a pretty penny (quite literally, it had only been marked for a single penny, much to the seller’s idiocy. It was probably worth hundreds.)

Crowley’s lips curl back into a lazy grin as he remembers that, and he nods his head once. “It is new,” he tells Aziraphale. “Picked it up a few days ago. Thought it looked lonely; could use a proper owner to take care of it.” 

“It’s not on  _ your  _ shelf…” Aziraphale points out, lifting both eyebrows.

“Astute observation, angel,” Crowley replies. “That’s because I got it for you.” 

Aziraphale lights up like the  _ blessed sun _ . His lips pull back into a grin so blinding and so bright it could probably power all of London for a  _ week _ . He hugs the book even tighter to his chest and sighs happily. “Oh,  _ Crowley _ ,” he gushes.

Crowley’s chest tightens and then something thuds painfully against his ribcage before absolutely taking off, fluttering at an accelerated pace— his  _ heart _ , he realizes. He can feel it in his chest, in his throat, his pulse racing away. It’s followed by his stomach  _ flopping _ so dramatically his whole body actually lurches a little.

He feels… giddy, almost.

It’s completely foreign, something he’s never felt before.

And oh. Oh  _ no _ . Is this what human death feels like? Crowley's never been discorporated before— he's come close a few times, but he's always managed a miraculous escape— but this feels a lot like what he's imagined discorporation would feel like.

Natural causes, it must be. He's read about them plenty. Even witnessed a few himself. Heart arrhythmia, is it? Palpitations. Clammy hands. Trouble breathing. Oh god, this is it. He's having a human heart attack.

What a way to go.

But he doesn't want to go.

He's still so young, just in his prime. 6,000 years old and there's still so much he hasn't done. So much he hasn't seen.

And Aziraphale! His angel! He can't just leave his angel!

His chest constricts again, this time more painfully, as he pictures Aziraphale all alone on Earth. It's a rather big planet. Very easy to get lonely without the right company. He can't have that happening.

Crowley rights himself in his chair, so quickly that Aziraphale looks up from his book, concern written across his features.

His hand flies up to clutch at his chest, fingers bunching into the fabric tightly. “Angel,” he gasps, voice tinged with panic. “Angel, I’m  _ dying _ !”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline, and he actually sets his book facedown on a free corner of the shelf. “Crowley, my dear, what’s the matter?” He asks, forehead pinched.

Crowley doesn’t say anything back, but he stretches an arm out towards Aziraphale, reaching for him. There’s an almost desperate need to touch him, to hold onto him; something to ground Crowley, perhaps, as his corporation does away with himself.

Aziraphale is at his side in an instant, and Crowley blindly fumbles for his hand, clutching at it tightly. 

“Crowley, you’re starting to scare me,” Aziraphale says, trying to keep his voice calm and even. A little bit of the worry still slips its way in.

“Is this what it feels like?” Crowley asks elusively, tipping his head back to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. 

The skin between Aziraphale’s eyebrows pulls together even more. “Is this how what feels like?” He questions. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Death. Dying. I think I’m— angel— my chest… it’s… is it supposed to do that? Is it normal for it to— to—” Crowley flaps his hand helplessly, “to skip around like that? To go that fast? To make it hard to breathe?”

Crowley moves the hand not still gripping Aziraphale’s down to lay against his abdomen. “And— and here! It’s like there’s a bloody swarm of bees in there,” he all but hisses.

That startles a laugh out of Aziraphale.

Crowley’s head whips up, appalled, and bewildered eyes land on Aziraphale. Is he… is he  _ laughing _ at him? As he takes his dying breaths?

“Angel, I’m having a  _ bloody heart attack _ and you’re  _ laughing at me _ ?” He asks, incredulous.

Another bubble of laughter spills from Aziraphale’s lips and he quickly brings a hand up to cover his mouth. As he clears his throat and collects himself, it seems as though his previous worries have somehow been quelled; however, that does nothing but spike Crowley’s own concern because  _ why does his angel suddenly look so relieved _ ?

“My dear, I’m afraid you’re not having a heart attack,” Aziraphale tells him, amusement coloring his tone.

Crowley frowns, but his grip at his chest loosens a little bit. “But it’s… it’s…” he waves his hand in front of his heart mimicking the irregular thudding. “That’s  _ normal _ ?” He drags Aziraphale’s hand down and presses it flat against his heart where it hammers away so he can feel for himself.

“Not entirely,” Aziraphale answers truthfully, pressing his lips together briefly. He pulls his hand away from Crowley’s chest. “Though, given the other symptoms you seem to be experiencing…” he trails off, and his cheeks go a little pink.

“What is it, angel?” Crowley demands.

Aziraphale then titters into his hand, like he just remembered a joke Crowley isn’t in on. “Oh, my dear, I do believe you’re in love,” he says. The rosy color of his cheeks grows darker.

Crowley blinks. “I’m…  _ what _ ?”

“In love,” Aziraphale repeats delightedly. “You seem to be displaying all the signs.”

“I’m— but— ngk—  _ how _ ?”

Aziraphale purses his lips and cocks his head to the side. “It’s a rather lovely experience,” he begins. “It isn’t difficult to recognize when you’re in love, either. It’s quite simple, really. It’s when you can’t stop thinking about someone, when you want to spend all of your time with them, when you’d do anything to see them smile.” Aziraphale’s lips curve into his very own soft, almost private smile. “It’s the way your heart starts to race when they’re around, how it feels hard to breathe because your heart takes up all the space in your chest when they’re near. That lovely fluttery feeling you get; the humans have called it ‘butterflies in your stomach’— how wonderful is that?” His nose scrunches up, rather adorably. Crowley’s heart squeezes again. “It’s especially easy for these feelings to stir about when the object of your affections does something or says something particularly notable. Perhaps that’s what happened here?”

Crowley’s lips part and he fishmouths for a moment. “But I’ve just been sitting here with you! We’ve not even done anything substantial! The only thing that’s happened is that you…”

He trails off as the other shoe drops.

“ _ Oh _ .”

Aziraphale just smiles kindly back at Crowley, almost as though he’s been expecting this. Like he’s just been waiting, very patiently, for the realization to hit Crowley.

“You know,” he starts, and a contemplative looks settles over his features before he continues. “You are quite in luck, my dear, if I do say so myself. I happen to know the  _ perfect _ relief for this.”

Crowley perks up. “You do? Well, please angel, don’t just keep it to yourself. Thank Go— Sat—”

Before he can finish thanking the proper entity, a pair of warm, slightly chapped lips press against his own, catching him fully and completely off guard. 

“Ngk,” he grunts, and his eyes grow wide. That swoopy feeling in his chest returns, full force. He feels positively weightless, like his inner workings have ceased to properly function and now he’s just floating there, at the mercy of the world around him— at the mercy of  _ Aziraphale _ .

The initial shock begins to wear off, and it begins to register that  _ Aziraphale is kissing him _ ! Crowley’s brain catches up with his body, his eyes fall shut, and he all but melts into Aziraphale, fingers coming up to clutch at the lapels of Aziraphale’s waistcoat. He lets out a breathy sigh into Aziraphale’s mouth, allowing himself to completely give in to what he never even knew he wanted so badly.

Aziraphale’s mouth is firm against Crowley’s, but entirely tender, too. He curls a hand against the base of Crowley’s neck and tips his head back to deepen the kiss. The change of angle is  _ exquisite _ and Crowley’s mouth falls open in a slight gasp. Aziraphale takes it as an invitation. 

A high pitched sort of whine catches in the back of Crowley’s throat and he presses himself impossibly closer.

If you had asked Crowley if he’d ever thought he could be in love, he would have laughed in your face. Now, he clings to that feeling, chases after it so desperately. He can’t get enough of it. It’s overwhelming how it surges through him, the  _ love _ , almost cloying in its strength. He hasn’t felt this holy since he was an angel himself.

Eventually, the kisses slow and Aziraphale extracts himself from Crowley.

Crowley’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, but his eyes don’t open yet, and he’s drawn forward, still-pursed lips seeking, as Aziraphale moves back.

His cheeks burn and his head is still spinning, that pleasantly dazed feeling still there. Air isn’t even a necessity for Crowley, but he feels completely breathless regardless, chest heaving. He’s precariously close to falling off of the sofa, but that’s the furthest thing from his mind right now.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes, and he lifts a hand to his face, fingers brushing against his tingling lips. A shiver runs through his body.

“How was that?” Aziraphale asks, sounding both gentle and slightly smug.

Crowley’s hand drops and his eyes snap open. He’d been so caught up in his newfound feelings that he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. A deep blush flames his cheeks and spreads down his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

A series of unintelligible noises strangles out as Crowley tries— and clearly fails— to put those feelings into proper words. Into  _ good _ words.

Crowley clamps his mouth shut, then tries again. He stumbles over his words once more before his brain decides to finally come back online. “Ngk— angel—  _ m’in love _ ,” he breathes, swaying in Aziraphale’s arms.

Aziraphale tilts his head adorably to the side, that blinding beam crinkling the corners of his eyes again. “So the treatment worked then?”

Crowley lets out a breathy laugh and nods eagerly. Perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Mm, ‘t worked,” he confirms bashfully.

His cheeks are still hot, but it feels like he’s starting to collect himself now. He clears his throat and grazes both hands down the front of Aziraphale’s jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles he caused.

“Could use a higher dosage, I think,” Crowley says, feeling brave. “More frequent administration. Just a thought.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline, and a surprised laugh falls from his lips. “Oh? You think so?” He wiggles delightedly.

Crowley shrugs, casual, ignoring the way the blush still simmers beneath his skin. “Might be… beneficial.”

Aziraphale laughs again, full and rich, then lowers himself onto the sofa next to Crowley. He caresses a hand down Crowley’s cheek and cups his chin.

Then he draws Crowley back in.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think with a kudos and a comment! 
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/brooklynbabybucky) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/BrklynBabyBucky)! :)


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